Provided by the author(s) and NUI Galway in accordance with publisher policies. Please cite the published version when available. Title Thinking sexual difference with (and against) Adriana Cavarero: on the ethics and politics of care Author(s) Ryan, Kevin Publication Date 2019-03-23 Publication Ryan, Kevin. (2019). Thinking Sexual Difference with (and Information against) Adriana Cavarero: On the Ethics and Politics of Care. Hypatia, 34(2), 222-241. doi: 10.1111/hypa.12465 Publisher Wiley Link to publisher's https://doi.org/10.1111/hypa.12465 version Item record http://hdl.handle.net/10379/15208 DOI http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/hypa.12465 Downloaded 2021-09-27T08:15:43Z Some rights reserved. For more information, please see the item record link above. This is the accepted version of the following article published in Hypatia Vol 34(2): 222-241, which has been published in final form at https://doi.org/10.1111/hypa.12465. This article may be used for non-commercial purposes in accordance with the Wiley Self-Archiving Policy [http://www.wileyauthors.com/self-archiving]. Thinking Sexual Difference with (and against) Adriana Cavarero: On the Ethics and Politics of Care KEVIN RYAN This article engages with Adriana Cavarero’s framing of sexual difference, specifically in terms of how this displaces “bodies that queer” (Volcano 2013). For Cavarero, the narratable self is inescapably relational and characterized by vulnerability, which is how ethics arises in the form of a decision between caring and wounding. At the same time, Cavarero’s deconstructive method of appropriating stereotypes restricts the scope of sexual difference to dimorphism. In examining the implications of this, I build on the work of Michel Foucault and Judith Butler by looking to the intersexed life of Adélaïde Herculine Barbin, whose suicide in 1868 at the age of twenty-nine was precipitated not through malice or cruelty, but through concerted care. This mode of care is anchored in the apparent self-evidence of how we see and how we think with and through narratives that sediment in orders of power/knowledge. While agreeing with Cavarero’s critique of the autonomous “I,” the article nevertheless argues for authorial audacity—the courage to name oneself—as a way of subverting asymmetrical power relations, including those that make it possible to inadvertently generate suffering through care. Is the birth of a child a “scene” that can serve to figure ethics, or is the appearance of this child in the world a unique event that can never be contained by ethical certainties? Fanny Söderbäck has gone some way toward tackling this question in her analysis of natality in the work of Hannah Arendt and Adriana Cavarero. If Cavarero takes the concept of natality further than Arendt by bringing the maternal inclination of the mother into the scene of birth, then Söderbäck aims to “push” Cavarero to go further still by giving “life to birth in all its complexity,” meaning the material inequalities that can make birth a life-threatening situation for mothers and their unborn children (Söderbäck 2018, 282). These constructive criticisms notwithstanding, Söderbäck supports the way that Cavarero uses the scene of birth to figure a relation of vulnerability that serves to “distinguish and normatively differentiate acts of care and love from acts of wounding and violence” (283). In what follows I want to “push” Cavarero even further while also pulling back from Söderbäck’s normative distinction between caring and wounding, thereby following Söderbäck’s own advice concerning the complexity of life as a critical vantage point on philosophical abstraction. I begin with some remarks on how the scene of birth as Cavarero presents it also sets the scene for her approach to sexual difference. During an interview with Cavarero published in 2008, Elisabetta Bertolino opens out the question of sexual difference by noting that the women’s collectives that Cavarero was involved with during the 1980s—among these the Diotima collective in Verona—borrowed from the work of Luce Irigaray, with sexual difference “interpreted as a question of experience, not of identity,” and thereby put to work in developing a theoretical and political approach conceived as “strategic essentialism” (Bertolino 2008, 129). During the interview, Cavarero says a number of things that have a bearing on strategic essentialism: that “it is necessary to use words with bad intentions,” and that she “works on stereotypes, seeking to decontextualize and reposition them in a game of resignification through unscrupulous and irreverent decodifications” (134, 137). One such stereotype—of particular importance to Cavarero—concerns “the feminine essence,” which she unravels and recodifies, thereby making it ironic (143). At the same time, Cavarero explains that “feminine sexual difference is a corporeal difference. In saying that, I am asserting a banality, because this is not just confirmed by biology, medicine, and anthropology, but it is also evident when a baby is born; one can see it is a boy or a girl” (143–44). It is not difficult to picture a professed gender outlaw like Kate Bornstein responding with a question along the lines of “and what about the rest of us?” (Bornstein 1994). Cavarero offers an answer of sorts to such a question, but before presenting it I need to back up slightly. The interview with Bertolino was published under the title: “Beyond Ontology and Sexual Difference”—the emphasis is mine, and I am drawing attention to it because although Cavarero takes her philosophical project beyond metaphysics by grounding her relational ontology in the materiality of embodied relations, this claim to extend the scope or range of thought (or perhaps “beyond” should be understood in the more radical sense of exceeding?) appears to reach its limit as Cavarero takes up the theme of sexual difference and adds something to her earlier remarks on the banality of corporeal difference: The human being is sexed, in one way or another; that is, the human sex is either masculine or feminine and the intermediate stages are most rare. It is not possible to consider the hermaphrodite a third sex. The hermaphrodite exists, but one cannot say that human sexuation has three prototypes. In other words, the hermaphrodite is a rarity. (Bertolino 2008, 154–55) I am aware of the need to tread carefully here because this quote has been plucked out of its context, and yet whether read within the context of the interview or in isolation as presented above, there is something amiss here. These words are spoken by a philosopher devoted to the uniqueness of each person, a thinker who builds on Hannah Arendt by insisting on the who as opposed to a what. And yet, in the above quote, this affirmation of plurality, which operates at the level of the “who” (who are you?), is corralled at the level of the “what.” Moreover, there is surely a lack of parity among the words Cavarero uses to name the whatness of human sexuation: masculine, feminine, and hermaphrodite. Insofar as this serves to commence the task of subverting the hierarchical relation between masculine and feminine, it does so at the risk of diminishing “bodies that queer” (Volcano 2013), which raises the question: why? Is this a minor slip, a temporary blind spot, a forgivable faux pas, or does it suggest something more strategic, perhaps a tactical move that has something to do with the appropriation of stereotypes and the technique of using words with bad intentions? This is the question I will use as a point of entry into the discussion to follow, which begins with an outline of how Cavarero’s rendering of sexual difference relates to the theme of vulnerability, culminating as an ethics of care. NATALITY AND VULNERABILITY: ON THE ETHICS AND POLITICS OF CARE As mentioned above, the image of a newborn child features prominently in Cavarero’s writings, grounding her approach to sexual difference in a vivid and deeply relational “scene” that serves to figure an “originary paradigm of human vulnerability” (Cavarero 2016, 104). In presenting this scene, Cavarero reformulates a concept borrowed from Hannah Arendt that I will use here as a way of approaching the ethics and politics of care. The concept in question is natality. Arendt uses this concept to trace the source of plurality and politics to birth: each of us comes into the world as a new beginning, and each one of us, throughout our lifetime, is uniquely capable of beginning something through words and deeds enacted in the public “space of appearance” (Arendt 1958/1998, 176–78). This is Arendt’s distinctive understanding of politics that, as she sees it, is staged in spaces of mutual exposition where it is possible to begin something or set something unpredictable and unforeseen in motion, though it is important to stress that once this process begins then it is no longer a matter of individual will or intention. Natality and action combine to inaugurate the new, but whatever emerges from such initiative arises between people who coexist in a conditioned/conditioning web of relationships. Cavarero makes the point that “what is at stake on the interactive stage on which the fact of natality is actualized and the phenomenology of beginnings is realized is not only the authentic form of politics, as Arendt intends it, but the human itself,” and hence we are, as Arendt suggests, “born twice: the first time as new-borns; a second time, and then time and again, as ‘actors’ on the political scene that confirms us as unique beings and as beginners” (Cavarero 2014, 14). However, and here is the sharp edge of her critique, Cavarero continues by excavating Arendt’s rendering of natality: [E]ven the most distracted reader would note that the Arendtian new-born, totally engaged in his/her being a beginning, does not evoke any tenderness.